I grew up in a fairly traditional, relatively Reformed Presbyterian church, of the PC(USA) variety. There are, within the bounds of the PC(USA), churches that hold to wildly differing beliefs. It really all depends on what literal church you walk into. I have been in a Presbyterian church that preached television show theology from the pulpit, have heard of PC(USA) pastors declaring that “Jesus wasn’t *that* important – what’s important is that we all get along and LOOOOOOOOVE”, have heard pastors preach feeling good over feeling convicted, embraced over forgiven. This is the far end of the liberal spectrum in my denomination, and such churches certainly aren’t fair representations of the PC(USA) as a whole, though such churches do make up a defining part of the denomination.
The church I grew up in was not one of these churches. I have heard Law and Gospel preached from the pulpit nearly every Sunday (there are always a few that manage to clunk by without much focus on Jesus at all, but those are few and far between – relatively). I learned the significance of the Protestant Reformation and its theology from weekly theological education classes. I learned to treasure the Bible as the inerrant Word of God (with the understanding that errors may arise, are pretty much guaranteed to arise, in human interpretation of the Word). I learned that we are saved by Grace alone, by Faith alone, as a monergistic work on the part of God. I played no part in my salvation other than as the receiver of it. The beloved, helpless, dirty street urchin child of God.
I have called myself Reformed from the moment I began to understand the theology of the Reformation. I call myself Reformed because I believe its understanding and flushing out of Scripture to be more accurate (maybe not entirely accurate, as I am not willing to put all my weight behind any human interpretation) than all others. I believe it clings to the Cross and doesn’t try to bend itself (too much) to the opposing will of Man.
All of this is excessive preamble (I’ve been told I tell stories like Agatha Christie, but without all the people dying) is to explain that I consider myself to be Reformed. I understand and love Calvin, have read and loved Luther.
But there is one part of theology that I hold to that is repeatedly unsupported by Reformed tradtion. I hold, have always held, will likely always hold, that women are not to be excluded from the role of pastoral ministry. That the use of verses like 1 Timothy 2:10-11 (to forbid the ordination of women) are taken out of context, are made into an aberration of scriptural interpretation that doesn’t fit with an understanding of the chapter as a whole, the book as a whole, Paul as a whole.
I have repeatedly been told by friends I admire, professors whose words I have soaked up, theologians I have read and loved, that I am horrifyingly in error in my belief. That by determining that such prooftexts reference a “period commandment” and not an “eternal commandment” (which, I believe, is supported in an accurate translation of the text and hermeneutical interpretation of the context), I ought to be forced to give up my hold on the title “Reformed” and accept “liberal feminist” instead.
But while I am certainly liberal in some things (recycle, reduce and reuse, dammit! It’s not that hard!) I am NOT liberal in my theological views. And I am not a feminist by any means.
But this discordance between my view (the accepted PC(USA) view as well, which is why I stick to this denomination that I am not always happy with) and the view of the rest of the “Reformed” church is frequently a source of personal unrest. It feels wrong for me to insist that, while they are right in so many things, they are truly wrong in this. And yet…
And yet I see in scripture a place for women in ministry. And I see a place in the church for women in ministry. A need in the church for women in ministry. I am not settled yet on the idea that there is a place for women as the head pastor of a church, though perhaps that comes from an transference of the fact that I am not comfortable with the idea of *me* as the head pastor of a church. But I find it almost laughable to think that God is not calling women to a place of ordained ministry in the church and in the world, or that we can deny His call. I have been attempting to deny His call my entire life, and see how miserably I’ve failed in THAT endeavor.
I was raised in my church to have respect, reverence for The Truth. That there will always be The Truth, something that is real and is right beyond human perception. I am wary of allowing myself to adopt a theology in any part that is separate from The Truth, simply because it makes me feel better, more comfortable.
I have struggled since feeling that tug into ministry with the thought that maybe I was doing it for some deep-rooted, self-satisfying desire within myself. After fighting this path into seminary, screaming and clawing and begging for something else for most of the way, I can’t help but think that it is not me (and likely, not the other women like me, or at least not all of them) who are giving into this self-satisfying desire. Perhaps that guilt rests on the shoulders who find their traditional view more comfortable, easier to handle, than to consider that perhaps they’ve been wrong about Scripture this entire time and have been denying half of God’s called servants from completeing the ministry they were born to do.
So many thoughts tonight. Forgive the incoherent ones. They can’t all be winners.
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My best friend of 13 years just asked me to officiate her and her partner’s wedding (or faux-wedding, depending on the legality of gay marriage in California at that time) five years from now.
My own qualms about performing ANY marriage aside, I am a lot a little shocked, a little honored, and genuinely sad that I had to say no. Because I’d love more than ANYTHING to be the one to marry my best friend off.
But I can’t do it. I’m in favor of gay marriage for constitutional reasons but I am not in favor of it being performed in the church. I can’t help but think that doing so is giving God the finger and saying, “I’m going to perform this sacred covenant and I really don’t care at all about Your thoughts on the matter.”
For the record, at this point in my life I’m very uncomfortable at the thought of marrying ANYBODY, sexual preference be damned. I’ve seen too many divorces and too many terrible marriages in my family alone to be particularly eager about joining anyone in holy matrimony.
Perhaps I’ll be able to articulate this better later, but… how do I explain that I’m ok with her getting married to her partner, I just can’t be the one to perform the ceremony?
I told her no. She told me that she had expected that to be my answer but thought she’d ask anyway. She asked me to think about it and I gave her my word that I would. But I told her not to expect that I’d change my mind.
Our conversation was over webcam with me in California and her in Japan and over thousands of miles and a crappy internet connection, she could tell that I was tearing up while I told her I couldn’t do it.
And promptly made fun of me.
And I was sad and she was sad and we were both so damned sad. We said “I love you” and said goodbye.
I know how I feel philosophically and theologically on the matter of gay marriage. I’m pretty solid in it. I hate that I cannot in good conscience marry this person I love to the person that she loves, but I threw my allegiance in with the God of Abraham, Issac and Jacob. That trumps a lifetime of friendship.
I think it is the only thing that does.
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There’s a guy that’s been following me on Twitter recently (name withheld, but just barely. You can see it on my Twitter history if you’re really curious) that’s been trying to get me to guest blog for his website, www.godvertiser.com.
That’s right. Godvertiser.
I’m not even gonna touch that.
I respectfully declined his request and told him that I was probably the wrong person for the job. Mostly I was gently trying to say that I would in no way be associated with anything attached to Joel Osteen’s Church o’ Me (this guy is apparently an associate pastor of some sort in that particular (loosely-named) church). I told him I had no interest in “church marketing”.
He quickly corrected me to tell me that he wasn’t into “church marketing” but rather “Godvertising”, which, reading his website for a bit, seem to be about the same thing.
There’s a post on April 18th about churches in need of an “MRI” treatment, which is apparently some sort of “Godvertising” that involves making your church events the main focus of your church and that if you’re not forcing open the wallets of your congregants (so you can hold MORE of these church events) then you’re doing something very wrong.
He then told me that because I didn’t like “Godvertising” I was (and presumably, others who think like me) the reason the average PC(USA) congregation is 67 members. (PS – this is a false, unsubstantiated statistic. Shame on this guy! He breaks the rules of Wikipedia.)
I told him that if those congregations have a real and meaningful relationship with their church community and were being well taught by a thoughtful and knowlegable pastor, I had NO PROBLEM with those numbers.
After all, having 67 people who genuinely know the God of Mercy and are in sweet communion with one another is far better than 10,000 who think it’s all about flashing lights, feeling good, fun programs and putting money in the coffers.
In the “MRI Diagnostic” post, he points out ZERO need for good doctrine, solid teaching or even the need for Jesus at all.
Foolish man to think the church may grow without the direct work and guidance of the Holy Spirit. Without the reading of, teaching of, listening to of God’s Word.
Foolish man to think that church growth has anything to do with us at all.
Ok. My rant is over. For now.
I just needed to get that off my chest.
I promise, I’m not usually this riled up about things. (Except when I am.)
Godvertising. Pah.
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I have just finished applying for my first (of several, I presume) student loans to cover the cost of my seminary education.
Thanks to a father determined to pay for my undergraduate degree (as he never got one himself), I graduated from college with exactly $0 in student loans. I know I’m incredibly lucky, especially considering that I graduated from a university averaging $34,000 a year in tuition and other costs. Others in my class left with considerably more debt than I did.
And seminary, in comparison with my undergraduate degree, will cost a whole heck of a lot less money, only $24,000 a year (give or take a thousand or two) for a three year program. $9500 of that will be covered under Princeton’s theological grant, which pays for 100% of my tuition (thanks, Princeton!). But that still leaves a hefty amount for me to cover, hence the loans.
My next two years aught to have better funding available, because I’ll carry an official “inquirer” status (stage one in ordination) and be eligible for a lot more than I am this year. But for now, I’m signing my name to a rather long contract promising to pay back a rather large sum of money to people who don’t particularly care that I’m entering a socially needed, low-funded field.
And I wonder, as I look at statistics that tell me that most seminarians graduate with over $60,000 in debt, that at least 10% will withdraw from the ministry because they simply don’t make enough to pay back their loans, that money is the top concern on the average seminarian/new minister’s mind and not, you know, their ministry — does this make any sense at all?
Why does our education cost so much that we find ourselves absolutely smothered in debt when we are finished? It is expected that other graduate degrees will cost quite a lot of money, sometimes putting the med student or law school student into over $100,000 of debt. But one can reasonably expect to be able to pay off those loans several years into working.
The average starting salary for a minister is $17,000 a year, less than I was making as a bottom-of-the-rung secretary earlier this year.
I don’t think it is the intention of the church to make the cost of educating its ministers so high. My seminary, for one, is known for having the highest amount of financial aid available for its students. And I am grateful for the money I was awarded – it is no small number. But as our economy gets worse and worse, even Princeton’s endowment is shrinking and scholarship money is becoming more scarce. I really had no chance of getting the merit scholarship I was desperately in need of this year as the number of those awarded shrank drastically from previous years.
So this year I take out nearly $20,000 in loans and pray that next year more funding becomes available. And I pray for my fellow seminarians, across the board, that they might see their financial burdens lighten as well. None of us thought we were going into a rich field. We all anticipated that we’d be just this side of poor. But here’s hoping that our loans do not crush us, do not flatten our ministries, do not prevent us from doing that which we were called to do.
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